no egrets

Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly, -
Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry.

After the excesses of the previous evening, a familiar walk close to home was exactly what was needed.  We'd not gone to bed until one in the morning after enjoying an evening with friends: plenty to eat, drink, laugh and listen to some great music. As David Crosby had just shuffled off this mortal coil the day before, there was a lot of his beautiful voice and adventurous guitar music to enjoy, even if a bit misty eyed.

A beautiful late Sunday morning presented us with the opportunity to have a relaxed walk from the house across lanes, fields and marshes that we have known for some thirty years. The walk is usually identified by locals as the "Deserted House" walk, for reasons which may be obvious but will become apparent. It was cold so we dressed up cosily and set off with sunglasses on and a spare hat in case my ears got cold (they often do). The walk takes us through a few streets until we get up to the more rural edges of the town. However, the amount of building that's going on currently suggests even more streets to trundle through in the future. Plenty of birds flitting about and some early song accompanied us along the way. Robins singing and I spotted a blackcap too.

Once we get to the few small farms and large houses we're in Big Sky country. Wandering along gave us a chance to check out where an unfamiliar track we had seen a week before can be accessed - something for another day. The gate marked 'Private' was open which saved a scramble over it. Despite it being private property, there is open permission for everyone to walk through, obviously as long as we keep to the track. Whilst walking up the track - I say up but this is East Anglia so along would be more accurate - we noticed how few people we had seen. There were hardly any others walking apart from a the occasional dogwalker or two. There weren't too many birds either. As the track bends I stopped to look through a reed bank but nothing there either. There is an old building along here that must have been an old barn or cottage many moons ago; this is so visible for most of the walk, and one of the only buildings in view, that everyone tends to refer to the whole walk as I mentioned above.

Just after we passed the dilapidated hulk, mostly boarded up long ago, I noticed a familiar bird in a field but one we haven't seen around here for quite a while now. A lapwing flying up with its squarish wings. As we climbed up the small incline up to the marshes by the Deben another one was standing on the path in all its Prussian Cavalry officer's glory. The sun glinted off of its beautiful green back whilst its white front stood out against the muddy path and the proud black crest stood to attention. Mrs Dave saw it through the binoculars and was quite surprised at how lovely it looks. He flew off ahead of us for awhile just to show off I guess. Across the marshes a flock of redshanks were busying themselves with wading through the pools and slecks* in an amiable lazy Sunday sort of way. There must have been thirty or more. Meanwhile surprised oystercatchers began flying up and across piping their alarm to one another. They were more often grazing alone or in pairs as opposed to the redshanks who found safety in numbers. The sun continued to shine and the reflections in the pools and creeks was gorgeous.

A few minutes later a cacophony of honking became  practically the only thing we could hear: hundreds of over-wintering greylag geese were engaged in a feeding frenzy and making sure that everyone knew where they were. Too far away for a decent photo but more and more were joining in and the calling was getting to crescendo level. Oystercatchers were still piping out their 'kleep kleep' alarm to each other and flitting across the marshes to safer areas. There were plenty of other smaller waders too but I really must try to recognise a few more, all a bit grey and difficult to tell apart.

We had to leave the path then as the mud became quite difficult to deal with, we were slipping and sliding at this point, so we scrambled along until we could get back onto the path. We were getting towards the end of the marsh walk by now and a handy post by the gate allowed us to scrape off quite a lot of the mud accumulated on our boots. As we wandered along past the row of boat houses I realised we hadn't seen any egrets which was quite unusual. Crossing across towards the pub, the Ferry Boat Inn, I finally saw a cormorant, the first of the day. These were rare when we moved here in 1988 but now an established colony has meant that they are quite ubiquitous now. Someone told me they saw a kingfisher here a few weeks ago but in all the time I've lived here I have never seen one. Or heard anyone else make that claim.

The sun seemed to disappear behind some grey clouds and a dullness settled. A very welcome pint of Adnam's Southwold in the busy warm bar and a favourite lunch of whitebait for Mrs D and pilchards for me. Sorry, I meant "Cornish sardines" as we have to call them now. Everything changes. Southwold is basically what we used to call Adnam's Bitter. Evidently that's an old man's drink. Everything changes.

It was time to get going back on the home stretch. As we passed the Martello tower next to the path that winds past the Links golf course and into the old town I realised how calm the sea was. The sun had come back out whilst we were in the pub, so a pleasant wander back home was in store. There was no breeze so I never needed to wear the other hat as my ears didn't get cold. There was an absence of the usual accompaniment to this walk back home. The absence of the sea rolling in to the shore. Even the gulls were quiet. 

A pleasant familiar Sunday walk where little happened. It was nice to see a few lapwings and the various winter visitors gently enjoying the moment too. The geese were pretty noisy but, on the whole, it was just a quiet few hours of peace with a fantastic backdrop taking in the natural world. We are constantly being told this is exactly what we need for our mental health. I couldn't agree more.

* slecks: a North Sea coastal word for mud at a river where the tide goes out.

never the same

Now that the singer is gone 

where shall I go for the song?

A post came up on Twitter today that prompted me to write about something I've been thinking about for a while. The post was a picture of some granny kissing an Elvis impersonator (not Costello, the other one). I had also sat in a café yesterday having to listen to a bore telling his companions (and dog - who was obviously really bored by the way it was grizzling) about his experiences of seeing The Australian Pink Floyd live. I would love to have told him I'd seen the Floyd free at Hyde Park when I was 14 and they were performing Atom Heart Mother, or at Knebworth when they did both Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here. He might have been jealous. Or maybe he didn't care as the Aussies were much better. So, where are we heading? Yep: tribute bands.

I must admit that I'm not a huge fan of tribute acts. There are many reasons for this but I do understand why they have become very popular in recent years. Now, in the case of the Café bore, he may never have seen his favourite band live. He was obviously younger than me by some 20 years and if he's going to see them because they play his favourite Floyd stuff - probably mid-70s - then maybe he missed the boat. Perhaps he did see them then and he just wants to relive his youth. As I was mostly trying to block out his monotonous reminiscences, I didn't hear that bit. still, what I did hear was really what prompted me to write.

Very often I have heard comments that when one goes to see these bands they are "as good" (sic) or "better" than the bands they emulate! Well, we can easily sort that one out. The original bands were pioneers; creative meetings of like-minded individuals who found a whole new way of expressing themselves. Following on from The Beatles and many others, young - mostly self-taught musicians - began playing together, and of course copying their heroes and, eventually, started writing their own songs. The songs were usually derivative, of course, but many grew quickly and began whole new movements in popular music genres. The equipment available back then was expensive and often not that good or reliable. As I said, they were pioneers: challenging the norms and inventing whole new ways to express themselves. Many of these bands and artists disappeared after only a few albums - often only one - and, of course, nowadays there is a whole industry in digging up much of this stuff and presenting it to a modern audience.

I have only ever seen a few tribute bands, and I have never gone out of my way to see any. By the way, we're not talking about covers bands here but acts whose whole raison d’etre is to perform/worship at the alter of their gods. I once saw a Santana tribute band at a festival, at the end of the set the guy shouted out to the audience that if we'd enjoyed his act then please go and buy his CDs! I thought that if I had have enjoyed his set (mediocre) then I'd gone to listen to Santana. Maybe it's just me. I also once saw The Bootleg Beatles - they were a support band - it was quite a few years ago. They were okay and very well-studied. They could play exceptionally well and covered all those songs that the Beatles could never have performed live. It is because they have studied this stuff for years and the availability and ubiquity of online tuition and tablature means many "secrets" can now be common knowledge. Equipment is trustworthy now. Modern keyboards are much lighter - nobody has to try to struggle up the winding stairs of a tiny venue with a Mellotron or Hammond Organ. Amps are reliable, guitars are so well made they stay in tune. Mind you, singers can still be a liability.  At the Cropredy Festival last Summer I stayed up to watch Steve Hackett performing early Genesis stuff. A bit noodly to say the least, but when the singer came on Mrs Dave and I stared at each other in disbelief and decided to call it a night. Let's just say he certainly was no Peter Gabriel, or even Phil Collins for that matter. Anyway, that's a whole other area of discussion, concerning bands that are their own tribute acts*. For another day I guess.

So, for me, the problem is one of creativity. Yes, some of these tribute bands can play well and put on a good show. Many of their audiences missed out on the original bands for sure. The original bands were gigging, writing, making albums and creating their own brands (if I may use such an awful modern term). Many had also spent many years "paying their dues" through playing in covers bands and sensing which way the wind was blowing, went on to write their own stuff. Many fell by the wayside of course. That's why collectors will pay hundreds of pounds for original vinyl lps of obscure acts. My problem has been for many years that with many venues only willing to book tribute bands into pubs and small theatres, any originality seems to have been stifled. There doesn't seem to be the sort of circuit now that inspired so many young bands back then (60s & 70s)  - the 50p circuit we called it. When I was the Social Secretary of Stevenage College in the mid-70s I could book local acts as support for the, slightly, bigger names. Many of the local bands did covers of their favourite stuff but some of us wrote our own material too. I have friends in a band that did 95% original material now but could hardly ever get gigs without putting them on themselves. That was heart-breaking for them but Times have changed so much.

The East Anglian Mark Knopfler

Another thing prompted me to write this today. Jeff Beck died. Now, I have never been a huge fan but have always appreciated his art. On Twitter (yes, I know) Alice Cooper was shown saying that Eric Clapton was a great Blues player and Jimmy Page was a great Rock player but Beck was a great guitar player. There are many tribute bands out there (and many karaoke-style tribute singers) but I bet there isn't a Jeff Beck tribute act. Amongst all the Beatles, Stones, Who, Queen, Take That, T.Rex ad nauseum tribute acts, I wonder if that level of skill can be recreated? Perhaps now he's gone there may be one. Perhaps the player can get up and jam with the David Bowie one.

What was that Marx said about History repeating itself?

* I still maintain that bands that have kept on going with only one or two original members that still write & record new songs are not tribute acts to themselves and their glory days. They are current bands. See Wishbone Ash for example.